Should have, Could have, Would have
by Montelimarie
Summary: A short little piece on what I think might have been going on in Cameron's mind during or after her and House's date in 'Love Hurts'... [Oneshot]


**Author's Note: A short little one-shot on what I think might have been going on in Cameron's mind during (or after) her and House's date in 'Love Hurts'...**

**Hey, it's what I would've done in her case.. I mean, come on - House is pretty damn attractive as far as I'm concerned. He must have some self esteem issues to think otherwise. ): **

**Poor House... I'd like to give him a hug.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own House, Cameron, blah blah blah.**

* * *

"_You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that's not perfect. That's why you married a man that was dieing of cancer… You don't love, you need, and now that your husband is dead you're looking for a new charity case. That's why you're going out with me. I'm twice your age, I'm not great looking, I'm not charming… I'm not even nice… What I am is what you need… I'm damaged."_

So many things, so many opportunities and she didn't take them. Thinking back to all the words and actions and options that might have made things better, might have stopped those words from being said, might have stalled for time might have done… anything, everything, but she didn't do, say, take, didn't act and now she wondered how it might have been.

All those words buzzing around in her head at a million light years a second, around and around – ready for her to say them, to clarify and explain but no matter how hard she tried she just couldn't speak them.

She should have told him that yes, he was twice her age but that didn't make him any less handsome. She should have said she liked the knowing smirk he made when he'd figured out a little clue, a little chance of discovery in a case or a personal mystery. She should have said that she liked his eyes, the bright blue that stood out so spectacularly and gave the world a little window into that acute, expert mind of his.

She should have said she liked his sense of humor, though it could be callous and cruel at ill-timed moments and despite that, it made her laugh – and with the things she dealt with every day, she desperately grasped at any opportunity to laugh.

She should have said the way he thought fascinated her, like his mind was a labyrinth of logic that took clues, hints, quirks and possibilities and combined them with knowledge to form a path, a way out, a conclusion. She liked the way that he just couldn't let a case go, couldn't let a mystery go unsolved and, though he insisted it wasn't true, every so often she could see a glimmer of concern for his patients and that made her feel better, made it more easy to accept those moments of poorly timed sarcasm.

She could have stopped his words with a touch on the hand, with a sudden kick to the table, with words of her own or anything but she didn't. She tried to move, tried to stop him in any way she could think of but it was as if she'd shut down, as if her brain was no longer connected to her body. All she could hear were his words – terrible words because, even if they weren't true, he made them true. He made them true because he delivered those words with the same sureness, with the same even, concise tone he used when discussing patients, when confirming a diagnosis. The one that he used when he knew above all else that he was right, even if it meant reality was wrong.

If she'd done things right, even after he'd said it, even if she'd been unable to stop him somehow, she would have taken it in stride – ignored it or commented on it or shrugged with a nonchalant smile and looked over her menu. She would have abruptly asked him to dance and he would have been caught off guard, would have stared at her with unbelieving eyes, would have held his cane aloft and made a scornful joke at her and she would have smirked slyly. She would have laughed and said that she could be cruel and insensitive too, that his picture of her wasn't as perfect as he'd gathered it to be, that his decision to ignore her interests in him was a false one and that he needed to start over again, form a new diagnosis from scratch and look at her with new eyes.

Should have, could have, would have, but she didn't. She took in every word he said without as much as a word of protest and she sat frozen, still as a statue and unable to do anything about it, unable to stop the spark before the entire thing caught afire. But it did catch, it ignited and it burned and shriveled to ash and she sighed because she'd lost the moment to charm, to stop, to stun – it was all over. Closed shut behind a heavy door of blue eyes and bitterness and she didn't know when, or if, that door would ever open again.


End file.
